A Good Man (7 page)

“Just tell them I’m going on a mission out west,” John said.

“A mission.”

That’s kind of what it is. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll be back in a year.”

“Give or take. Maybe sooner.”

“How much sooner?”

It could be as soon as the Sunday after next. “I don’t know for sure. I’ll be on God’s time.”

“Hmm. You’ve been on God’s time a long time, John.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s the best time to be on.

“Maybe it’s time you took your own time.”

Yeah, I’m a little hesitant about being selfish. “Yes, sir. Um, I’ve been thinking that maybe Aubrey could cover my Sunday school class while I’m away.”

“No need. I’ve been thinking of folding your singles into the adult class for a while. I don’t think Sister Withers, Sister Jackson, and Brother Watts are ever going to get married.”

Their collective age is pushing one-sixty. “Um, the furnace is running smoothly, and—”

“Don’t worry yourself, John,” Reverend Wilson interrupted. “You go out west and take care of business.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m running out on you.”

“You’ve been with us going on twenty years, John. You’re one of the very few who haven’t run out on us at any time. You’ve always been there for us. I’ll be praying for your journey.”

“Thank you, sir.” I’m gonna need it. “Um, about my apartment …”

“The house will be here when you get back.”

“Thank you.”

“If you get back.”

This man’s been my confessor, confidante, and guide for so many years. I have to tell him something. “Reverend, I’m going out west to find a wife.”

“I knew that you were getting tired of being an assistant deacon.”

“It’s not that, I just …”

“You don’t have to explain, John. ‘And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’ You miss your help meet.”

I am so transparent. “Yes.”

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting a promotion or your old position back when you return with her.”

Tell the truth. “Yes.”

“That promotion will be here. Go get your bride.”

Should I tell him I’ll have to go on TV to get her? I don’t think Reverend Wilson ever watches much TV, and the folks at New Hope aren’t exactly new-fashioned. They may even think I’m betraying the memory of one of their kin.

“I’ll do my best, Reverend Wilson.”

“I know you will, because ‘as the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy God rejoice over thee.’ We will all be praying for your safe and triumphant return.”

“Thank you.”

I just hope I don’t return empty-handed.

Sonya looked at the headshots and read the bios of the so-called “hunks.”

Most of these guys are punks.

Cute punks, though.

There are a few former athletes. That’s a plus. At least we’ll have something to talk about. None of them are over thirty. So young! And I’m so not! All of them—except for the white guy—are ripped, tatted, pierced, and fierce. It’s hard to tell if the white man’s ripped, tatted, or pierced because of that suit. He’s wearing a suit? Only two actually smile. The white man is smiling, probably because he doesn’t have a single brain cell in his head. Wearing a suit for a headshot? He can’t be that bright. And going on a show to win a Nubian princess? He has to be using Hunk or Punk for an acting credit.

She read through the bios and found actors, models, waiters, one former NBA Developmental League player, and a film editor. The white man is a film editor from Chicago. Okay, he has more than a few brain cells, but what kind of films do they make in Chicago? They have to be cold and windy films.

So young, so young. Sonya sighed. I could have babysat all of them!

Okay, who goes first? Her eyes traveled to the white man. Arthur. He’s the oldest at thirty. Auburn hair. Auburn? Who has naturally auburn hair? Green blue eyes. Hard to tell from this black-and-white shot. Yet … he’s the only one who looks genuinely happy. Oh, they’ve set him up perfectly to lose. The only one closest to my age is white, not that it matters. I like his eyes. Good chin. And he’s smiling.

I still could have babysat him.

The phone rang. Kim?

“Hello?”

“Sonya.”

Kim. Sonya sighed. She never says my name happily. “Did your Christmas gifts arrive on time?”

“You know they did. They arrived two weeks early.”

And she never says “thank you” for anything. One day … “Did the running pants fit?”

“Yes. It all fit, as you knew they would.”

Because Kim and I wear the same sizes.

“The shoes were nice,” Kim said.

A compliment? That’s different.

“Not my color,” Kim said, “but they’re all right.”

She told me navy blue. Geez. Sonya took a deep breath and exhaled. “Kim, I have a big favor to ask of you.”

“What?”

I have no real right to ask her to do this, but I have to. “I’ve been, um, asked to go on a reality show in Los Angeles next week, and I need a best friend.”

“And you thought of me.”

“Yes.” Because you are my best friend. You just don’t know it yet. “Um, the best friend, I mean, you will help me choose a, um, a man from among twelve contestants on this new show called—”

“You’re kidding,” Kim interrupted.

“It’s called Hunk or Punk, and I’ll be the, um, the Nubian princess.”

“No way.”

“Michelle Hamm, you remember her. My publicist? She sort of signed me up without my permission.”

“So you haven’t agreed to do it yet.”

“Not yet. And if I don’t have you for a best friend, I probably won’t do it.”

“You’re putting all this on me?”

“No, I meant …” She is so touchy! “The producers will hire some model to be my best friend if you don’t do it, and that would be completely stupid.”

“I think the whole thing is completely stupid.”

She always says what she means, and that’s another reason why I have to have her be my BFF. She will tell me the truth. She has never sugarcoated anything. “But I’ll need you to help me weed out the bad apples.”

“Strange mix of metaphors, Sonya.”

“Um, yeah.” She is far too educated for her own good.

“This is crazy, Sonya.”

I agree. “It is pretty crazy, isn’t it? This isn’t something I would ever do, right?”

“Right. You don’t do crazy.”

And Kim most certainly does. “Yeah, and well, they want me to be a twenty-five-year-old actress who surfs, too.”

Kim laughed. “You don’t even swim! What the hell?”

Sonya frowned. At least we’re making some progress. She used to use the F word exclusively. “And I volunteer at soup kitchens.”

“You can’t be serious, Sonya.”

“I am, and I will, of course, try to change that mess.”

“I don’t know. Having you play a beach bimbo might not be all that bad. It would definitely be entertaining.”

I got your “beach bimbo,” little heifer. “Um, I’m not sure, but you might need to take up to a year off from work.”

“What work?”

Sonya gasped. “You’re not working?”

“I got laid off along with the rest of America. There’s this crummy economy you might have read about. It’s been in the newspapers and on TV.”

“When did you get laid off?” Sonya asked.

“Last month, Sonya. You know, the last time you called me.”

But she told me … “You said not to call you so much.”

“I didn’t mean for you to go thirty days without calling me.”

Has it been that long? “I’m so sorry. Are you okay for money?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ll send you more, I mean … I’ll put more into your bank account. Today.”

“Thanks. I’m getting sick of eating rice cakes.”

Oh no! “That’s all you’re eating?”

“No. I have plenty of money, okay? You know I don’t spend much.”

Kim rarely spends a dime that doesn’t leave a crease on her fingers. “But … but that means you’re available to do the show.”

“To play your best friend.”

She never sounds interested in anything. “Right. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure. It’ll be a hoot. Wait. Next week? We’ll be celebrating New Year’s in LA?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that will be a hoot, too.”

She always sounds sarcastic about everything, too. “And we’ll have a nice big house, I’m sure. A mansion.”

“Full of sweaty, nasty men who want to do the horizontal bop with you.”

Hard to disagree with the sweaty part. But the “horizontal bop”? Whatever happened to simply “doing it” or “knockin’ boots” or “gettin’ skins”? I am so old. “You said once that you wanted to visit LA.”

“Not this way.”

“And, um, well …” Sonya sighed. “It will give us a great deal of time to get to know each other better.”

Kim was silent.

She’s probably rolling her eyes. “So … what do you think?”

“I already told you what I think. It’s stupid.”

Sonya’s heart sank. “I was hoping—”

“But I’ll do it.”

Sonya was silent.

“You there, Sonya?”

Did she say … “You’ll … do it?”

“Hell, yeah. I’ve got nothing better to do and a year to do it.”

That was almost a nice thing to say. “Well … great. Um, I’m flying out to LA Saturday, so if you could drive over here, we can, um, we can travel together.”

“What about my apartment? Are you going to keep paying on it while I’m gone?”

“Sure.”

“Why? That’s a f—I mean, that’s a terrible waste of money.”

She caught herself in time. I am gradually rubbing off on her. “I don’t mind.”

“Why don’t I just move out completely? I mean, there are no jobs I’m interested in taking in Atlanta. I might find something in LA.”

Or something even better. Not sure what the “something” is yet. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah. Cool, you know, awesome, dude.”

“You’re so old-fashioned, Sonya.”

That I am. “You want me to come to Atlanta and help you move out?”

“I don’t have much. I’ll get a U-Haul trailer.”

She is much more resourceful than I am. “When can I expect you?”

“Friday. I have a few things to take care of.”

“Cool.”

“Quit saying that.”

“I’m old-fashioned, remember?”

“Whatever. Bye, Sonya.”

After Kim hung up, Sonya felt a tingling in her hands, her breath coming in short bursts. It’s amazing how this is working out. Thank You, Lord.

“Wow,” she said aloud. “Wow!” she shouted.

And Lord Jesus, I know I don’t deserve the title, but could You please help that child call me mama just once before I die?

“Bob, it’s Larry.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why call?”

“I’m calling with some good news. The Nubian princess has agreed to the eligibility requirements, hasn’t made much of a stink about us changing her identity yet, and will be flying out Saturday with a best friend in tow. Once we get her signature on the contract, she’s ours. The white man is on board and will be flying out Monday. He’s really quite an interesting fellow, and I’m sure you’ll—”

“Monday? He’s flying out Monday? Tell me he’ll be here Monday morning.”

“Um, well, no. The earliest we could get him out of Alabama is—”

“He’s from Alabama?”

“Um, yes. Burnt Corn, Alabama, and he’ll be arriving at LAX—”

“Burnt Corn?”

“It does exist. I Googled it to make sure.”

“Larry, we start filming at eight PM.”

“Even with the worst traffic, we should have him to the mansion by then.”

“Larry, WB wants us to do the first episode live.”

“What? Live? What are they thinking? Why?”

“They’re already worried about the show. When I told them about our new Nubian princess, they decided that a live opening would generate more interest.”

“But so much can go wrong with a live show!”

“That’s probably what they’re counting on, and with the Crew we have, that is almost a given.”

“Wow. A live show.”

“You couldn’t get him out here any sooner? Couldn’t you have chartered a jet to Buttered Corn or something?”

“For the white guy?”

“Yeah. I see your point. We’re already over budget. But what if he arrives a lot later than eight? We do her grand entrance and all the intros first thing, and if he’s not there …”

“He’ll be there.”

“We can’t have him come late and spoil her grand entrance.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll have Manny pick him up at LAX. He used to be a stunt driver, you know.”

“Manny? He’s eighty!”

“He did all those Smokey and the Bandit pictures back in the seventies. He’s gotten the rest of the Crew to the mansion on time. He’ll get our white guy through traffic on time, too.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“Then … WB will have a slam-bang live first episode of Hunk or Punk.”

While waiting for Kim to arrive on Friday, Sonya took an online personality test at Individuality.com to help her determine what she wanted in a man.

And after completing the test, she was no wiser.

She even felt a little dumber.

The first question wasn’t a question. What does the length of my fingers have to do with my personality? So what if my index finger and ring finger are the same length? What if I had lost part of a finger in an accident? Would that have changed my personality?

She dutifully put X’s in some check boxes—including “only child”—but ran into trouble with: “What kind of relationship am I interested in?” Single income? Double income? Love isn’t about money. If that were true in this economy, no one would fall in love.

Leading to marriage, not leading to marriage … This survey is so nosy. She clicked “Not sure yet.”

What does the condition of my sock drawer have to do with relationships? What if I didn’t have a sock drawer? I do, but what if? Why are there all these questions about friends? And why isn’t there a check box for “none”? Some people don’t have friends, you know. No, I don’t smoke or drink, and I live alone.

I also have a daughter who calls me by my name …

I never should have put Kim up for adoption. My life would have been completely different, but then there wouldn’t be this disconnect between us. But what could I do? I was a foolish teenager, a stupid child who didn’t have a thought in her head. What could I have offered her then? I voluntarily “surrendered” my child in New Jersey, and the child makes me want to yell, “I surrender!” now.